When Eagles are Silent
by owlwayssandforever
Summary: A collection of one-shots for HP Houses Challenge Year 5.
1. 1D Charlie's Kids

**Charlie's Kids**

**HP Houses Challenge Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Class:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _Charlie Weasley_ **| Word Count:** _999_

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o . o . o

* * *

Charlie opened the invitation that Nyctea had dropped off, absentmindedly scratching the alabaster feathers on her head. He recognized Hermione's neat script adorning the simple embossed card.

Mr. Harry J. Potter  
and  
Miss Ginevra M. Weasley

request your presence  
at their wedding

Saturday, June 14th  
The Burrow  
4pm

Please RSVP by owl at your earliest convenience.

No fuss, no muss, the invitation was Harry and Ginny to a T. Charlie knew that there was some pressure on them to have a big society affair, given their reputations, but that wouldn't have been them. He felt another card in the envelope and pulled it out.

Please indicate your attendance below.

Name _

Yes _ No _

No. of Guests _

Please note that kids are welcome.

Charlie began filling out the card without hesitation, drawing a little check mark next to 'Yes'. But as he moved toward the line below, his eyes drifted to the final line of the card. _Kids are welcome_… No doubt it was for Teddy and Victoire, since there weren't really any other kids… yet. An idea started to form in Charlie's mind, something he thought Harry and Ginny would thoroughly enjoy…

o - o - o

Five months later…

o - o - o

The Burrow was decked out for Harry and Ginny's wedding. Golden streamers hung from the rafters of the snow white tent, golden balloons decorated the aisle, even the air seemed to shimmer with golden specks of sunlight. Charlie thought the entire setup was magnificent.

He had insisted on staying at the Leaky Cauldron and apparating over for the wedding, claiming that the Burrow was overcrowded and he didn't want to be in the way. Truthfully, Charlie just wanted to be able to execute his plan with the proper amount of surprise.

When three o'clock rolled around, Charlie pulled on his linen suit, gathered everything he needed, and set off for the Burrow. As he approached the house, he felt excitement rising, anticipating the reactions ahead of him.

He knew exactly what his mum was going to say.

"Did you bring anyone special with you, Charlie?" Mrs. Weasley intoned as he walked into the back yard, looking at him like a puppy waiting for a treat. Merlin, the woman had seven kids, you'd think she wouldn't care so much if _one _of them didn't settle down. But no, Molly Weasley had a vision, and that was of all of her children married with seven kids of their own, and all 65 people huddled around the radio at Christmas listening to Celestina Warbeck.

"Well, I've brought the kids with me," Charlie answered quickly, without a hint of caprice.

"Oh yes, of course," his mum replied automatically, before registering his words. "What kids? Charlie, you haven't got…"

Her mouth dropped as her eyes drifted over his shoulder.

"CHARLIE WEASLEY!" she shrieked. "Charlie those are NOT children! Those are… those are dragons! In tuxedos!"

"I've no idea what you mean," Charlie replied deadpan. "It's not very nice to call Bertie and Hadrian dragons, they're perfectly well behaved. And Wilhelmina is wearing a dress, you shouldn't lump her in with her brothers."

"Her - Bertie - dress," Molly stammered, unable to make any sense of what was in front of her.

Charlie strolled right past his mother, three little Ridgebacks tottering along behind him. He could see that his little family was eliciting a lot of unusual and amused looks from the other wedding guests, but that didn't bother him at all. Charlie had been on the receiving end of curious looks for most of his life. He found a seat in the first row of chairs, where all the family was supposed to sit, and made himself comfortable.

"Wilhelmina! Bertie! Come here guys, come sit with Daddy," he cooed, holding out his arms toward the dragons. "You too, Hadrian!"

Squawking slightly, the dragons waddled over to him, flapping their tiny wings as they tried to jump into his lap. They launched themselves at his legs, dull baby talons grasping for purchase as they slipped down, but Charlie reached his hands down to help them, lifting them safely into his lap. Hadrian and Wilhelmina circled around a few times, and then plopped down, more or less on top of each other, and nestled their snouts under their wings to sleep. Bertie, on the other hand, sat alert and attentive, watching all the movements of the wedding with curiosity.

Everyone waited patiently for the ceremony to start, the tent gradually filling up with all their closest friends and family. Not long after he had taken his seat, elegant music began to swell, and a procession of people marched in. Harry stood at the front, Ron beside him, watching with eyes full of emotion as Ginny appeared in front of all of them, her attention fixed solely on him.

Just as Ginny reached the front of the aisle, nearly level with the first row, Bertie let out a long _screech_, smoke billowing from his nostrils and sparks drifting into the air. For a moment, everyone was silent, and Charlie could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. But then Harry burst out laughing, and Ginny was quick to follow. She was nearly doubled over in laughter, her hands on her knees and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Bertie stared at her with his head cocked to one side, confusion written across the dragon's features, as if he had just said something of the utmost seriousness and couldn't understand why anyone would laugh at him. Ginny stumbled the last few steps and Harry reached out toward her to pull her closer to him and support her, both of them hiccuping with laughter.

"Sorry, he's in the terrible twos," Charlie shrugged semi-apologetically, eliciting raucous laughter from the rest of the wedding guests.

"Don't apologize, I love him," Ginny cooed through her mirth.

"Besides, it's not a Weasley gathering without some fireworks, is it?" Harry added, grinning.

"Definitely not," Ginny agreed. "Best wedding ever."


	2. 1S Worth Knowing

**Worth Knowing**

**HP Houses Challenge Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Class:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Standard_ **| Prompt:** _Poppy Pomfrey_ **| Word Count:** _1031_

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o . o . o

* * *

Like most students, Remus Lupin was eleven years old when he met Poppy Pomfrey for the first time. Everyone else typically met her because they got sick, a spell went wrong, or they missed home. She would provide them with potions or salves or spells to heal whatever ailed them, and send them on their way when they were ready. But Remus was a very different story.

Albus Dumbledore brought Remus to Poppy's office on September 2nd, first thing in the morning. He was a quiet and shy eleven year old, but incredibly intelligent. Poppy could tell right away that this was a child with immense curiosity, but something always held him back. Even as he got older, Poppy would think the same thing. A remarkable man who always kept himself from realizing his full potential.

"Poppy, I'd like you to meet Remus Lupin," Dumbledore had said on that first day. "Mr. Lupin is, you see, a werewolf."

Shock flooded her body, but also sorrow. She couldn't help but feel sad for this little boy whose life had been cruel, and she could only imagine it would continue. He certainly did not deserve such a life. She knew the kind of persecution and prejudice werewolves faced, and while it seemed unfair for anyone, it was particularly unjust for the quiet eleven year old boy who stood in front of her.

"I have taken precautions so that he may be here, learning in the midst of his peers," Albus continued. "But I know that no matter how much I prepare, he will likely spend a great deal of his time in this ward. I would like you to do everything in your power to help him and make him comfortable, especially around the time of his transformations."

"When do I not do everything in my power?" Poppy answered coolly, but she regarded Remus with kind curiosity. "Headmaster, would you leave Mr. Lupin with me for a while? I would like to get to know each other a bit better."

"Of course," Albus replied, dipping his head. "His first period is free, but please see to it that he gets to class on time."

Albus swept from the room with his lilac robes billowing behind him, and the door to the infirmary closed with a heavy _thunk_.

"Hello, Remus," Poppy said with a smile. "Why don't you have a seat?"

As she spoke, two comfortable armchairs appeared in the corner of her spacious office, with a little table set in between. Remus took one of the chairs obediently, and Poppy sat in the other, observing him keenly.

"So," she started simply, trying to find a way to bond, "are you excited for school? Or perhaps a little nervous?"

Remus nodded, and Poppy noticed him chewing at his lip slightly.

"Well, I happen to know it'll be wonderful," she said. "All the kids I see come through here and not one of them has ever hated it."

"I bet none of them were monsters like me," he whispered under his breath.

Poppy could sense the self-loathing beating inside the little body, like a second heart hammering away at his soul.

"I've never had any werewolves, you are correct," Poppy admitted to him. "But I have seen my fair share of monsters roam these halls, and believe me, Remus, you aren't one of them."

He gave her a pitying smile. She couldn't tell if it was because he'd likely heard those words spoken a million times and never believed them, or if he thought he would prove her wrong in time.

"Is there anything that you like, something that I can make sure I keep stocked for you?" Poppy asked, changing course.

"Chocolate," Remus answered without hesitation.

"Did you know that dogs are allergic to chocolate?" she said without really thinking. It was such a habit to spout little fun facts to her students, a way to make them more comfortable.

"Yeah," he said, and his expression caused Poppy to have a stark realization.

_That's why he likes it_, she thought to herself. This boy not only hated himself, but it appeared he had somewhat of a self-destructive streak. This would be more difficult than she first anticipated.

"Alright," she conceded. "I'd like you to spend some time here, if you don't mind, when you aren't ill. It'll make it more normal for your friends when you do have to spend time here if you have regular appointments with me."

"I don't have any friends," Remus replied, and Poppy instinctively knew that he wasn't saying that he hadn't made any friends yet, but rather that he didn't want to have any friends at all.

"Well, you will, and they won't find it as strange if you meet me regularly," Poppy reasserted.

"Fine, what will we do?" Remus asked, a bit huffy. "Weekly checkups?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of private lessons," she said, watching for the gleam of curiosity in his eyes. "You could help me around the hospital wing, and I could teach you some of the ins and outs of healing. What do you think?"

"I'd like that," he admitted sheepishly.

"I might even be able to help teach you some things that would make your transformations easier," she mused. "I'll have to look into it a bit, and you'll need to work hard at your spellwork. Can you do that?"

Remus nodded, and she knew he wasn't just doing it for her. This boy loved to learn, she could tell, and she wouldn't be surprised if he finished the year top of his class.

"Excellent, I'm glad to hear it. Now hurry along, you don't want to be late for class. I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore and arrange some time in your schedule."

"Thank you," Remus said earnestly. "Er - I'm sorry, what are you called again?"

"Well, mostly I'm called Madam Pomfrey," she grinned, "but seeing as we'll be spending so much time together, you can call me Poppy."

She watched him leave and thought to herself that this was a student that she could truly help, not just for a day or two, but for his entire life.


	3. 2D Study Dates

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Class:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _[Setting] Hogwarts Library_ **| Word Count:** _1000  
_Hogwarts School Insane Prompt Challenge | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 481 - Setting - Library_  
_

* * *

o . o . o

* * *

Hermione stood from her table with a sigh. She was missing one of the books she needed to write McGonagall's essay, and she couldn't imagine how she missed it earlier. Maybe it was checked out? But the register showed that it was there… She huffed in frustration and made her way to the appropriate aisle.

As Hermione ran her fingers over the spines of the books that lined each shelf, searching for the one she needed, she had an eerie feeling that she was being watched. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and she had a prickling sensation in the back of her mind. She whipped around, trying to discover the source of her discomfort.

At the table closest to the bookshelves, with a clear view of Hermione, sat Viktor Krum. His eyes were trained on her, unwavering in their focus. Even from several meters away, she could see the intensity in his expression, and she could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. She tried to ignore him, but her eyes kept flicking back to where he sat.

_Basic Principles of Vanishing. Viktor. Advanced Vanishing Methods. Viktor. Varnaud's Vanishing Volume. Viktor._

It was a steady rhythm in her mind, beating back and forth. Each time she glanced over at him, he was still staring at her. With a deep sigh, Hermione returned to her table and started packing up her belongings. She would have to go back to the Common Room, because she would never be able to focus here.

"Excuse me?"

His deep voice startled Hermione, and she jumped a mile high, dropping her books with a loud thud and banging her knee painfully on the chair.

"H-hi," she stammered, silently cursing herself for sounding so vapid.

"I vos vondering if you vanted to study vith me?" Krum asked in his thick accent.

"Oh, well, I was actually just leaving," Hermione replied, not entirely sure why she was declining. He was handsome, to be sure, and she supposed that if he had been chosen as the Durmstrang champion, he was at least moderately intelligent.

"You are done already?" he said, his expression knowing. "You did not seem done over there, looking for books."

"Well, no, I'm not finished exactly," Hermione admitted, feeling a slight blush tinging her cheeks. "But I should be getting back to my dormitory before it gets too late."

"Perhaps another time, Miss...?" he asked, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Granger." She smiled. "Hermione. And I suppose another night would be alright."

"I look forward to it," Krum replied, reaching for her hand and leaning down to press the lightest of kisses to it.

"Right, well, goodnight," Hermione said, more breathless than she would have liked.

She grabbed the strap of her bag and hauled it over her shoulder, and Krum picked up her stack of books and handed it to her.

"Goodnight, Miss Herm-own-ninny," he said, offering her the smallest of bows and stepping back in a gesture that allowed her to withdraw without feeling as though she was leaving him.

As she left the library, Hermione felt giddy, and she tried - and failed - to resist the temptation to look back over her shoulder. Krum was still there, watching her departure, and she could see him smile when she turned around, obviously pleased that she demonstrated some attachment.

o . o . o

Hermione met Viktor in the library most nights, often just by unspoken agreement that they would both be there. Most nights they sat in a comfortable silence, working on their respective assignments, and occasionally asking each other the odd question. Hermione typically probed Viktor for knowledge - what had he learned? What was Durmstrang like? How had Grindelwald's rise affected his country? Viktor, on the other hand, mostly asked about her - what did she like to do? Did she want to travel? What were some of her favourite things? It was a companionable partnership, and Hermione found that she quite enjoyed studying with him.

Almost two weeks into their regular study dates, Dumbledore announced that the school would be hosting a Yule Ball, as was traditional during the Triwizard Tournament. Girls began chattering excitedly about everything from their dates to their dress robes. The boys seemed markedly less enthusiastic; a few of them - including Harry and Ron - looked positively nauseated by the news. Hermione wasn't immediately sure that she would stay for the ball. She missed her family and they would be disappointed not to see her. She didn't really think anyone would ask her to the ball anyway. Not that she needed to wait for someone to ask her, she was perfectly capable of doing the asking, but… well, she wanted to feel wanted, and she very much doubted that would happen. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't shake the image of herself in some beautiful dress dancing with Viktor as she walked back to the Common Room. She didn't feel much like studying that night, more keen to go to sleep early and see where her dreams would take her.

The next night, when Hermione arrived at the library, Viktor was already there, waiting. He seemed a little agitated, and Hermione wondered if something had happened with the tournament. Perhaps there had been a setback in decoding the second clue? She knew better than to ask. The tournament was something they never discussed.

"Herm-own-ninny," he burst suddenly, his eyes fixing on hers with intensity. "Vill you accompany me to the ball?"

"Me?" Hermione squeaked, taken aback. "You don't want me, I'm sure anyone would be happy to go with you, Viktor."

"You vould not be happy to go vith me?" he asked, his disappointment clear.

"No, I would be!" she hurried to correct. "But I'm sure you could ask someone better, someone prettier…"

"You are beautiful," Viktor insisted, reaching out for Hermione's hand.

"But you could ask anyone…" she protested.

"I don't vant anyone," Viktor stated, his eyes filled with conviction. "I vant you."

"Alright then," Hermione agreed, her heart leaping.


	4. 2S A Furry Little Problem

**A Furry little Problem**

* * *

o . o . o

* * *

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge | House:** _Eagles_ **| Subject:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Standard_ **| Prompt:** _[Speech] "I think I'm allergic to you."_ **| Word Count:** _1556_  
**Hogwarts School Term 11 | House:** _Gryffindor_ **| Prompt:** _[First Aid, Task Two] Write about an allergy.  
_**Hogwarts School Insane Prompt Challenge | House:**_ Gryffindor _**| Prompt:**_ 923 - [Emotion] Pensive_

* * *

o . o . o

* * *

Lily sneezed.

Her eyes started to water, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Two seconds earlier she had been completely fine, and then Sirius had walked in and now she felt like her skin was on fire, and she wished she could tear it off. She sneezed again, snot clogging her nostrils.

"Lily?" Marlene asked, furrowing her eyebrows in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, scratching at her neck.

"Really, because you look like you want to claw your face off…" Marlene replied, clearly skeptical.

"I don't know what's going on, I usually only get like this when there's a dog around," Lily said.

"Someone must've been down at Hagrid's playing with Fang," Marlene shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, I've gotta get out of here, otherwise I'm never gonna get any studying done." Lily packed up her books and grabbed her bag as she stood.

Once she was out of the library, her symptoms subsided almost immediately. Lily couldn't fathom what the cause could be, it was just so bizarre.

o . o . o

She felt his presence before she even saw Sirius enter the room, her skin beginning to crawl and a tickle building in her nose.

"Sirius! _Achoo! _Get away - _achoo - _from me! Please!" Lily begged, trying to stifle her sneezes as Sirius approached the table where she was sitting.

"Merlin Evans, what's your damage?" Sirius snapped, flashing her an irritated look.

"I think I'm allergic to you," Lily said miserably, wiping tears from her eyes. "_Achoo_!"

"What?"

"I don't know," she moaned, rubbing at her eyes again. "I don't know why, but suddenly every time you get within five feet of me it's like I'm being suffocated by a pillow of dog fur! I can't take it anymore, Sirius! I just want to go one day without - _achoo!"_

Sirius looked at her with wide eyes. He hadn't known Lily was allergic to dogs. Not that there would be much changing their predicament - he hadn't known that his animagus form would turn him into a dog, and even if he had, it wouldn't have stopped him from doing it. But it did upset him that she was so miserable. For all he teased her (and she badgered him right back), Lily was his friend, and he never wanted to be the source of her discomfort.

"You can't possibly be allergic to me, Evans! It's not possible," Sirius argued, keeping a shred of hope alive that maybe she was mistaken about the cause of her troubles.

She sneezed twice in short succession in answer to his statement, and when she opened her eyes, they were red and watery. She looked almost as if she had a bad case of the flu.

"Please, Sirius," Lily begged, sniffling loudly.

"Okay, okay," he conceded, pushing back from the table and collecting his things. "Feel better, I guess."

"I will once you're about fifty metres away," Lily mumbled under her breath. She watched as he ducked out of the portrait hole, undoubtedly off to find James, and tried to breathe more steadily, letting the air pass through her slowly clearing nasal passage.

o . o . o

Sirius burst into the library, his mind whirring as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn't very well spend the next two and a half years making Evans sneeze non-stop every time they were in the same room. James was sitting in the back of the library, as he usually did, bent over the table with his hand fisted in his hair in concentration. It was his customary pose whenever he was grappling with a particularly difficult assignment, and the sight almost made Sirius turn around. But no matter how difficult the essay was, this problem was definitely more important. He plopped down into the chair across from his best friend and dropped his bag on the table with a heavy _thunk_. James didn't look up, even when Sirius began tapping his fingertips impatiently on the tabletop. With a heavy sigh, Sirius resolved himself to break the silence.

"Hey James," he whispered. "I think I've got a problem."

"Just ask him out already," James mumbled, focused on his essay.

"What?" Sirius asked, confused.

"Nevermind," James sighed. Evidently the problem was that Sirius was still completely unaware of his own feelings, but James wasn't going to be the one to break the news to him. "What's your issue?"

"Apparently Evans is allergic to dogs," Sirius answered under his breath.

"So?" James replied, trying very hard to seem nonchalant at the mention of his crush.

"_So _in case you haven't noticed, lately I've started turning into a big hairy dog some nights!" Sirius hissed. "Last I checked, you've been right there with me in all your cervine glory!"

"So you're saying she's allergic to you?" James clarified.

"Yes! Apparently that particular trait sticks with me even when I'm not transformed."

"Merlin," James swore, running his hands haphazardly through his hair. "Well what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, I was kind of hoping you would help me figure that out," Sirius snapped. "That's what I came here for - you know I'm not the library type."

"Right, well, maybe…" James thought carefully, trying to remember some kind of spell or charm that would help them.

"Do you think I did it wrong?" Sirius asked, chewing on his lip in a rare show of apprehension.

"Did what wrong?"

"The animagus spell. Do you think I got it wrong somehow, and that's why -"

"No," James said firmly. "You did it exactly the same as me and Peter. I'm sure it's just one of the peculiarities of the condition. You'll see, in time we'll all find that we have traits that carryover. That's probably in part what matched us to our forms in the first place."

"I didn't always make people sneeze uncontrollably!" Sirius hissed.

"Of course you didn't," James pacified. "I think allergies are usually caused by the dandruff, maybe there's a charm that can take care of that."

"What if we could cast some kind of charm so that I never lose fur or something," Sirius suggested, his expression desperate.

"You might end up a gigantic furball," James teased, trying to lighten the mood, but he only succeeded in making Sirius groan in frustration.

"This is hopeless!"

"Maybe you should ask Professor McGonagall," James suggested. "She turns into a cat, I bet she's had this problem before."

"Right, and clue her in on us all being unregistered animagi," Sirius scoffed.

"Honestly, I think she's probably already guessed it," James shrugged. "After all of our 'hypothetical' questions… she's not stupid, you know."

"Alright, fine, I'll ask her."

o . o . o

Sirius took a deep breath as he raised his fist to knock on the door of Professor McGonagall's office. He wasn't at all confident about this, but he couldn't see any other options. Sirius usually had no problem flouting the rules, and he didn't mind a detention or ten, but being an unregistered animagus was a different story altogether. And he wouldn't be the only one that got in trouble either. But he just couldn't continue to torment Evans.

"Professor McGonagall?" Sirius called out as he knocked on her door.

"Come in," she replied, and the heavy door swung open, pulled ajar by her invitation.

Sirius stepped into her office and shut the door behind her, taking a seat in the armchair in front of her desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Black?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Sirius had to suppress a shudder at the use of his surname, as he always did.

"I have a question for you," he said.

"I presumed as much," she replied, staring intently at him. "Go on."

"It's a bit hypothetical," Sirius began. "I was thinking about animagi, and something occurred to me. What if someone were to take a form that others were allergic to? Your form is feline, and lots of people are allergic to cats. What do you do?"

"Well, typically animagi do not cause the same reaction in others," Professor McGonagall explained, adjusting her spectacles. "As they are magical beings, and not your average animal, they do not usually possess the same allergens in their physical form. However, in some situations, the transformed state of an animagus is so strong, that they take on even more of the physical properties of their form, which can include allergens. For those who experience this, there is a rather simple spell - _reprimere irritans_. It is cast upon the animagus, and is typically permanent, but if it does wear off, it can be recast with no issue. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Professor," Sirius replied, feeling a great deal of relief. "Mostly, at least. Is it possible for people to be allergic to animagi, even when they're human?"

"I suppose," she answered thoughtfully. "If the connection was strong enough, that it would be possible for traces of any allergens to remain. But the spell should resolve that as well."

"Thank you, Professor," Sirius said sincerely, feeling more relieved than he ever had after a conversation with one of his teachers. He excused himself from her office and made a beeline back to the library, hoping to find James there. He had gotten answers and now he had a plan.


	5. 3D A Government of Wolves

**HP Houses Challenge Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Class:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _[Setting] Daily Prophet Newsroom_ **| Word Count:** _1000_

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o . o . o

* * *

Tom Criquetter had a fantastic name for journalism - it was easy to pronounce, but memorable, and all in all sounded _very _English. And importantly, there was a story behind it, which had trained him in the art of storytelling from the age of three (precisely). So it had been no surprise to anyone when Tom had joined the Hogwarts Mirror, the student run newspaper, or when he became the youngest editor ever as a fifth year. Tom was, without question, a fantastic writer, and when he finished his NEWTs, he was immediately snapped up by the Daily Prophet for a staff writing position. In little time at all, he rose through the ranks, until he was a junior editor, in charge of the feature pieces. He worked with a good staff and liked everyone else. Barnabas Cuffe ran the paper as a whole - a good man, if a little preoccupied with connecting to people he deemed of great import. Sally Hensforth ran the sports section, Mertin Lee ran the Arts & Entertainment section, and Rita Skeeter - the bane of Tom's existence - had control over the Social section. But for the most part, it was a good team, and Tom enjoyed his job.

On Tom's thirty-third birthday, however, things changed. He had been out to dinner with his wife when an owl had arrived at their table, dropping a hastily-written note before flying off. Sally had been covering the finale of the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts for the next day's edition, and at first Tom thought that she might be asking for help getting her article finished in time. Instead, he found several words which were most alarming.

_Cedric Diggory is dead. Potter says You-Know-Who is back._

There was nothing else to the note, but Tom didn't need any other information to know that this would need urgent attention. He made his excuses to his wife, but she was used to it and didn't mind in the least, and then stepped out into the alleyway to Apparate to Hogsmeade. It took Tom two hours of interviewing to feel like he'd gotten a solid grip on the events of the night. After he had collected all the information he needed, Tom left the school so that they could mourn privately, and so that he could write his article. Apparating back to the newsroom, he immediately hunched over his desk, furiously scratching words onto the parchment in front of him.

Tom made his way to the editor's table to put the finishing pieces on his section so the layout could be sent to the printing press. He was nearly finished when Barnabas Cuffe walked in followed by the Minister for Magic, much to Tom's surprise.

"I'd like to read your article about the Tournament," the Minister asked, without pleasantries.

"Of course," Tom conceded, sliding the parchment across the table.

The Minister's eyes skated over the words Tom had written, and he felt a sense of uneasiness creep over him. Cornelius Fudge had never before visited the newsroom to check on an article, let alone so close to the print deadline.

"I'm rather surprised, Mr. Criquetter," Fudge began. "Mr. Cuffe had led me to believe that your were a journalist with more integrity than this."

"I'm sorry, Minister, I'm not sure what you mean," Tom said, befuddled beyond measure.

"Well, from what I've heard, it's rather unlike you to report such baseless rumours."

"With all due respect, Minister, I did a great deal of interviewing, and there's nothing in that article that is unfounded," Tom argued, feeling rather defensive.

"It's a pack of lies!" Fudge hissed, his round cheeks turning a ruddy color.

"I spoke with Dumbledore, with Potter, even with Crouch!"

"Barty Crouch Jr is obviously very ill, and Potter has been known to make up stories," Fudge insisted.

"Potter was the only eye witness that we know of to what happened in that graveyard!" Tom disputed. "His story makes perfect sense! How do you think the Diggory boy died?"

"It was a tragic accident!" Fudge spluttered, pulling the bowler hat from his head and toying with it agitatedly.

"It was murder!"

"Tom -" Cuffe interjected, his tone stern and commanding, something extremely out of character for the genial, laid-back editor. "The Daily Prophet will not be publishing any articles claiming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back without irrefutable evidence."

"You can't be serious," Tom gasped, noticing the self-satisfied grin that settled on the Minister's face. It was clear that this policy was a directive issued from Fudge himself.

"It is not your place to question either myself or Mr. Cuffe," Fudge admonished, replacing his bowler hat.

"I will not be part of defrauding the public," Tom insisted, squaring his shoulders and though he was readying himself for battle. "If you want to report this as anything other than a murder by Lord Voldemort, you'll need to find yourself a new Features Editor."

"I'm sorry that it has to be this way, Tom," Barnabas sighed, utterly defeated. "I expect your desk to be cleaned out by the end of the day tomorrow."

Without so much as another word, Cornelius Fudge turned on his heel and strode from the newsroom, Barnabas following close behind.

Swearing under his breath, Tom crumpled the parchment on the desk in front of him. He couldn't believe that the Minister could act in such a way, that he could so completely ignore all the facts that were laid out so clearly in front of him. Even more astonishing was that Barnabas would go along with it. With a swift motion, Tom swept from the room, his coattails billowing out behind him, and he stepped out into the night air. He needed a walk home to clear his mind, and figure out what to do next. It wasn't exactly a good time to be out of a job. But even so, it was better to be unemployed than to be complicit in corruption, spewing propaganda, and misleading the public instead of exposing the truth.


	6. 3S More Than This

**More Than This**

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge Year 5 | House: **_Eagles_** | Course: **_DADA_** | Category: **_Standard_** | Prompt: **_[Character] Cornelius Fudge_** | Restriction: **_Must be written in the past as a backstory/origin story. Cannot be a flashback._** | Bonus: **_[Theme] Forgotten heroes_** | Word Count: **_1847_

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o . o . o

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He signed his name on the line at the bottom of the paper.

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge_

He felt weirdly like he was signing his life away, even though it was only a job. But something told him that this job was going to change his life, and maybe not for the better. He didn't have many options though - he'd had mediocre NEWT scores and he wasn't connected to any powerful wizarding families, so no one was exactly clamoring to hire him. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was more than respectable though, even if it wasn't exactly what he had dreamt of doing.

All around him, people were talking about a war. Cornelius was less sure about it all - there did seem to be a lot of tension between Pureblood families and, well, everyone else, but that wasn't exactly new. He supposed the disappearances were a bit odd, and it was true that there had been a few more murders than was typical. But as for an actual _war_? Cornelius had his doubts.

It was during his second month on the job that things took an abrupt turn. Until then, it had all been small things - pranks and mishaps and the like. Pets escaping and wreaking havoc on the neighborhood, artifacts being charmed to bite off a finger or erase memories. It was all somewhat tame. Cornelius was starting to wonder if they ever actually dealt with anything more on the catastrophic side of things, or if all that was left to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

A note fluttered into existence, the parchment hovering in the air in the middle of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes office. Cornelius looked around, searching for one of the junior ministers to take the message, but seeing none, he snatched the note for himself.

_Dragon attack. Barnton. Come quickly._

Cornelius wasn't entirely sure why the message had been sent to their office, but he supposed a dragon attack constituted a catastrophe. He quickly copied the note twice, signed his name to the bottom and forwarded it as a memo to the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Much as he was loathe to share the limelight with them, he could not deny to himself that they had a right to be informed of such an event. Once that had been done, Cornelius sped around the office, looking for anyone else from his department who could join him. But it was late at night, so there was no one else there. Letting out a swear, he grabbed his travelling cloak and swept from the office, wrapping it around his shoulders as he walked.

Once Cornelius reached the main lobby of the Ministry, he twisted on his heel, thinking intently of the main square in Barnton to apparate there. Once arrived, he doubted it would take him long to discover the precise location of the attack. He was right in thinking that locating the attack would be easy. He was very, _very _wrong in thinking that it would merely be a rogue dragon.

Cornelius hadn't been in the square of the small town for more than a few seconds when a jet of red light streaked toward him, only narrowly missing his ear, the _whoosh_ of it ruffling the neatly trimmed ends of his hair. A heartbeat later a loud growl erupted from behind him, and he could feel the heat of an accompanying breath of flames. Duelers _and_ dragons, excellent.

"Take cover!" a voice yelled, and Cornelius thought it seemed vaguely familiar. But he had little time to dwell on that, instead focusing on ducking behind the statue in the middle of the square.

From his secure place, Cornelius took a moment to look around, trying to sort out what was happening around him. Down three streets to the north, he could see dragons lumbering behind a tall, thin figure in pitch black robes. Something inside him told him that this figure, this man who nearly blended into the night, was the dark wizard that everyone feared. This was Lord Voldemort. Until that moment, Cornelius hadn't believed in him, or hadn't believe the extent of him, he wasn't sure. But in that moment, as terror flooded his system, Cornelius understood. But he could not - he would never - turn his back on this situation. Whatever flaws he might have, Cornelius Fudge was _not_ a coward. He tightened his grip on his wand and continued to assess the situation.

To the southwest was a bunch of Order of the Phoenix members - those renegade witches and wizards who were part of some kind of vigilante organization to stop Voldemort and his followers. He recognized the auburn hair of Lily Evans, easy enough to spot. And if Lily was there, that meant James Potter was right beside her. Those two meant there was a high likelihood that Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon or Dorcas Meadowes was concealed in that alleyway as well, but Cornelius could see no sign of them.

What Cornelius could see was exactly what was going to happen next. The Order gang was trapped. They had no shelter - at least none that could withstand a fully grown dragon - and no retreat. They could, if pressed, apparate away from the scene to save their own skin, but it would leave the town prone to Voldemort, his followers, and three dragons. Cornelius knew enough about these guys to know that they would never do that. They would die there, either by curse or by dragon fire, or by some other hellish means. Unless he did something.

From the way they were approaching the square, it didn't seem that Voldemort or his followers either knew or cared about Cornelius' presence, and that left him with an opportunity. He could save them. He could save the whole town, if he played his cards right. He tapped his wand to the top of his head, wordlessly casting a disillusionment charm over himself, and he crept forward slowly.

He would only have one shot at this. Smoke was billowing into the night sky from the tongues of dragon flames that licked over ancient buildings. He needed to subdue the dragons first, in order to give them all a fighting chance against Voldemort's gang. With three rapid flicks of his wand, Cornelius cast binding spells on the dragons. Heavy iron shackles burst in the existence, chaining together claws and pinning down tails. Even sturdier iron muzzles clamped down over their snouts, dampening the danger of fire. With a hiss of frustration, the Death Eaters tried to free their mounts to no avail. Cornelius has learned this particular spell from an American trader, and only the caster could remove it. One of the dragons toppled sideways into a building, the stone wall crumbling beneath its weight. Cornelius could hear screams from inside.

The sound of residents screaming seemed to spur Lily and James into action, pushing them forward to try to save anyone they could. But they were running straight into a minefield. The Death Eaters unleashed a barrage of brightly colored spells, all speeding toward the two young adults.

Cornelius swore under his breath as he looked between Lily and James, ducking curse after curse as they surged forward across the square, and the fallen building that housed the collapsed dragon, now beginning to catch fire as it concealed countless terrified individuals. In a split second, he made his decision. Lily and James were experienced duelers - at least, they were as experienced as any recent graduate - and they could take care of themselves for the moment. He sped towards the inferno, ready to cast _aguamenti_ the moment he was behind enemy lines. He could see the gaping hole where the dragon had fallen, a mess of stone and mortar obscuring what once had been an organized interior. He scrambled to put an end to the blaze while he searched the rubble with his gaze, desperate to find survivors now that the screams had abated.

Once he had the flames under control after what felt like an eternity, Cornelius began shifting rubble aside, grasping at every body that he found and pulling them to relative safety. He moved from one spot to another, finding as many people as he could. It was a tavern, he realized, and there were dozens of bodies strewn under the wreckage. Cornelius continued working systematically, moving to the next building, burned beyond recognition, when he had finished, and then the next and the next. He drowned out the fight behind him, until a gut feeling told him to turn around. Lily was on the ground, scooting backwards as fast as she could while Voldemort approached steadily. James had evidently been thrown against one of the remaining buildings, unconscious in a heap at the base. Cornelius could tell from Voldemort's predatory gait that he had every intent of playing with his food before he ate it, so to speak. Cornelius sent a severing charm in their direction, aiming for Voldemort's wand and hoping it would be enough. He missed his target, but his spell sliced through the Dark Lord's arm instead. He snarled, vicious and animal-like, and the sound sent fear dripping down Cornelius' spine. With an evaluative look at his injury and his Death Eaters defeated on the ground, the Dark Lord disapparated. It wasn't a life threatening injury, but it was enough to drive him away temporarily, like a wounded creature seeking its den in order to recuperate.

Cornelius turned his attention back to his task, digging through piles of splintered and burnt wood. It registered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that a series of small _pops_ indicated the arrival of other wizards, but he didn't know whether it was other Order members or the ministry wizards he had sent for. It didn't matter much to him, as long as they could help him save these people.

There was no article in the newspaper the next day, but somehow everyone knew about the attack anyway. Everywhere Cornelius walked, he was treated to awed expressions and declarations of gratitude. Is was far more than he felt he deserved. He heard the phrase _the hero of Barnton_, uttered more than once, and it made him sick. There were so many people he hadn't saved, so many who had perished in that attack. He hadn't done nearly enough to be deemed a hero. But it didn't matter how he saw himself, all that mattered was how the rest of the wizarding world perceived him.

Two years later, Cornelius would be sitting at his desk when he heard the news: Lily and James Potter were dead, and the Dark Lord was gone forever. He ought to be thrilled, like the rest of the world, but on that particular morning, only one thought would run through his mind on a continuous loop. _I saved them, dammit. I saved them for more than this._


	7. 4D My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me

**HP Houses Challenge**,_ Year 5_ **| House:** _Eagles_ **| Subject:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _[Song] Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables_ **| Word Count:** _1033_

**Hogwarts School**, _Term 11, Assignment 6_ **| Subject:** M_en's History_ **| Task:** _4, Write about someone dealing with a mental illness/disorder, depression, or staying in an asylum. (Chosen illness: Depression)  
_Hogwarts School Insane Prompt Challenge | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 194 - Theme - Betrayal_  
_

**A/N:** _Bolded lines indicate phrases pulled (& reworded) from the song._

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o . o . o

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My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me

Peter stepped across the threshold of the house. There were scorch marks on the wall creeping down the stairs, and the carpet in the living room was slightly singed as well. He stepped carefully, as though he were concerned that their ghosts might rise from the floors and strangle him. He didn't really know why he had come here, except that he felt a profound aching that he couldn't seem to shake. **There was a grief that filled him that he couldn't put into words.**

There, in the living room, that was were he had sat with his friends, as **they had talked about revolution** and made plans. They had a vision, **they could see a world reborn** that Peter couldn't begin to imagine. They wanted to set the world on fire, and i**t was in this room that they lit the flame.**

Peter kept walking, passing into the kitchen. There was **the table in the corner**, and he could see the ghosts of maps and blueprints they had spread out across it once upon a time. **He could hear their voices ringing** as they clamored to speak over each other, excitement bubbling over their newest assignment. **He could hear them still**, as clearly as if they sat at that table now. **But the chairs were empty, the table bare.**

He continued his tour of the cottage, each new room pushing the knife of grief deeper into his heart. There were ghosts in every corner, **phantom faces in the windows, wraith-like shadows across the floor**. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that he was not the only one walking through the house.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Peter gasped for air, feeling as though his heart had been shredded to pieces. He felt like he was drowning; the guilt and anguish washing over him in a tidal wave a thousand times stronger than he had ever felt before. He sank to the floor under the weight of it, tears streaming down his cheeks. **_Forgive me_**, he thought to himself. **_I'm so sorry, forgive me. I shouldn't be here, not when you are gone. I don't deserve to be the one alive._**

Peter let out a low wail as his pain enveloped him. What had he done? He never wanted this to happen, he never wanted to hurt anyone. He just couldn't understand the point of fighting against an unstoppable force. Wasn't it better to just accept your fate than to keep fighting in vain? People were only dying because they were fighting back, if everyone just conceded, wouldn't things be better? The war would end and people would be less afraid. And that was all he had wanted, for everything to stop. He wanted his friends to stop dying. He knew they were willing to die to change the world, but he didn't want them to; he wasn't ready for that. And why should he be? Why should any of them live only twenty one years just because the world wasn't perfect?

And even now, **what was their sacrifice for?** The Dark Lord might be gone, but was anything else really different? Hearts and minds don't change overnight, and his defeat wouldn't mean that people stopped believing what they did. They were dead, and the world wasn't going to change. It was going to go on, his own personal hell hole, horrible and unfair, and without them. He never wanted to be without them.

Anger boiled through him suddenly like dragon fire. This wasn't his fault - the blame belonged with Snape. He should have never opened his mouth about that damn prophecy. He was the reason Peter's friends - his family - was dead. The git was probably dancing on their graves too, not a shred of remorse in his body.

Peter slumped to his knees against the charred wall and closed his eyes, his lids fluttering slightly over the tears. He needed to leave, he couldn't bear the heartbreak any longer. The anger he had felt toward Snape had fled as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the sound of his torment echoing in his ears. He wanted it to go away desperately.

Stumbling, he fled the cottage, his feet carrying him as fast as possible through the fog, his tears blurring the world around him. How apt. A metaphor, really. Grief made everything else recede into the background so that the only thing that was in focus was the pain one felt. **Pain that seemed to go on and on forever.** His mind, body, and whatever remained of his soul was consumed with despair. Peter wondered if it would ever stop, or if he would feel this acute ache for his entire life. He came to a stop in an alleyway, leaning against the brick wall and sliding down until he crouched on the ground. His hand trembled as he raised his wand to his head, thinking the words over and over. Peter could end it all right now, and then the pain would fade into a blissful numbness. How nice it would be to just… stop.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed, his breaths short as the killing curse was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't utter the words; he betrayed even himself now. He laughed bitterly, his fingers tearing at his hair as he dropped his wand to the ground. Perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps that was the price he should pay for the role he had played in his brother's death. Never ending sorrow, immutable pain. That was his punishment.

But there was one thing he could do. Peter knew he was a coward as he did it, but it didn't matter. He wished he had the courage to face his pain, but he had always been a coward, why try to change now? He felt things less when he was transformed, his human emotions tucked away in some distant corner of his mind. So perhaps if he stayed in his rat form long enough, the pain would have subsided. He could wait it out. Courage may not be one of his virtues, but patience he had in spades.


	8. 4S Through the Wardrobe

**HP Houses Challenge,** _Year 5_ **| House:** _Eagles_ **| Subject:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Standard_ **| Prompt:** _[Crossover] Chronicles of Narnia_ **| Word Count:** _1628_

_**Insane Prompt Challenge | House:** Gryffindor **| Prompt:** 145 - [Plot point] Traveling somewhere new_

**A/N:** _Timing-wise, this is set sometime when Peter is in school (around Year 3 or 4 I think), and sometime between the Pevensie's coronation and the end of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. _

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o . o . o

* * *

**Through the Wardrobe**

Peter opened the closet door, and was surprised when he was greeted with a slight chill in the air. It was as if a draught was coming from the back of the wardrobe, but that couldn't be, it made no sense. He rifled around among the coats, searching for his big puffer coat. A gust of cool air drifted out, and a few stray snowflakes landed on Peter's nose like a dusting of ivory freckles, taking him by surprise.

"What on earth?" he mumbled to himself, and he pushed farther into the cupboard, shocked when his hands did not immediately find a back.

He kept inching forward until he emerged on the other side of the coats. He stood in a small grove of trees, well maintained, with snow coating the ground and the tree branches, and a vast array of stars peppering a velvety night sky. His first thought was that it was a vanishing cabinet, but he knew full well that this wasn't how they worked. He could feel in his bones that this was some kind of ancient magic, deep and pure and untapped. It thrummed through his veins like a song, calling him forward, deeper into the strange new world. Peter snagged the first coat his fingers curled around - his aunt Mildred's, as it happened - and wrapped it around his shoulders as he trudged forth, listening to the tug of the magic.

He trudged through snow until his feet began to grow numb and his nose felt like a block of frozen ice. As the sky began to lighten with the first hints of a sunrise, Peter could begin to see the stone walls of a castle between the tree branches. Thoughts of flickering fires and hot chocolate offered some warmth and urged him on. The sun was visible over the castle walls when Peter finally reached it - aching, tired, and above all, cold. He pushed open the thick wooden door, dropping his shoulder against it in order to make it move. Inside was a pretty spring garden filled with ancient-looking, curved trees and brightly colored wildflowers.

"Hello?" a voice called out, timid but curious.

"Who's there?" Peter gasped, stepping backward a little. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.

A young woman, only a few years older than Peter, stepped forward from amidst the trees, and Peter wondered how he hadn't seen her. Her bright red gown didn't exactly camouflage with the foliage, and the golden crown nestled atop her auburn hair glistened in the sunlight.

"It's only me," she said kindly. "But I don't know who you are."

"P-Peter," he stammered.

"My brother's name is Peter," she sighed, looking over her shoulder at the castle looming behind her. She seemed oddly sad as she spoke. "King Peter."

"Your brother is the king?" Peter asked, his eyes traveling to her crown again. "So then you're a princess?"

"No, I'm Queen Lucy the Valiant," she replied, a little fiercer, as though she was annoyed to have been demoted by the stranger. "My brother is High King Peter the Magnificent, then my sister is Queen Susan the Gentle, then King Edmund the Just, and then me. We four rule Narnia together."

"What's Narnia?" Peter asked, feeling incredibly dumb.

"Narnia is where you are. Do you mean to say that you come from another land?"

"I… don't know exactly," he admitted. "I came through the wardrobe, and then I was in a clearing, and I walked here."

"We came through a wardrobe once…" Queen Lucy looked over his shoulder, her eyes glazed over as she became lost in the memories of long ago. "Come with me," she said, suddenly snapping out of her trance. "My siblings will want to meet you."

She turned and swept along the stone path to another door, pushing it open and stepping inside. Peter followed, taking in his changing surroundings with wide eyes. They had entered into a dim stone corridor, lit by flickering torches, but soon they were traversing more ornate halls with beautiful rugs and paintings and statues. Peter felt as though his jaw was on the floor as he followed his host. Even Hogwarts wasn't this grand. With a sudden pang, he realized that he had left his wand behind, and he began to feel panic rise in his chest. _You don't even know if it would work here,_ he told himself. He had no idea what the rules of magic were when you crossed between realms.

After several minutes of walking, they passed through a high archway that opened onto an enormous hall, and Peter let out an audible gasp. The hall was floor to ceiling marble with ornate gold detailing, and at the front, on top of a high dais, sat three ivory chairs with plush red cushions. The hall wasn't full, but a few citizens were milling about, waiting to be seen. All but one of the four seats were occupied. To the far left was a man with jet black hair and a green velvet tunic. He sat up straight, rigid, and looked at those who spoke to him with an intensity that made it seem as though he were trying to read their thoughts. Next to him was a blond man in gold, his hand resting on a sword laying across his knees as he lounged in his chair. Beside him was a woman with long hair and a pale blue gown, an ivory horn slung across her chest, and a bow and quiver leaning against her leg. She looked at her subjects with kindness, but her attention quickly shifted as she saw her sister enter the hall.

"Excuse us for a moment," she said quietly, but with enough force to bring everything in the room to a halt. She was the kind of woman who commanded respect and obedience, not unlike Professor McGonagall. With a glance, she directed her brothers' attention to the two newcomers, and then all three stood and made their way to a room at the side of the hall. Queen Lucy followed them, and Peter followed her, aware that the hall's occupants were watching him with curiosity.

"Who's our guest, Luce?" the blond brother asked with amused curiosity.

"This is Peter, and he says he came through a wardrobe last night," she answered, and a hush fell through the room. The three siblings looked as though they'd been hit over the head, shocked and surprised by this information.

"I was at my Aunt Mildred's house," Peter began to explain, the words spewing forth. "She lives in Castleford, and we were visiting for the holidays. I was supposed to be doing my schoolwork, but I wanted to go outside instead, so I was grabbing my coat. But then it was so cold and I was curious, and there was no back to the wardrobe, and I ended up in this snowy clearing."

"In Castleford?" the older woman - Queen Susan, he supposed - asked softly, as though she was remembering something long suppressed.

"Yes," Peter confirmed.

"Near Leeds?" the dark haired man chimed in, exchanging a glance with his sister.

"Yes," Peter answered, feeling confused.

"It has to be the same," the man said, and Queen Susan nodded.

"Professor Kirke's house," Queen Lucy confirmed, and all four stared at Peter intensely.

"I think my aunt mentioned a Professor," Peter said. "He was a friend of her grandmother's, from when they were kids. They… they travelled somewhere together I think. Some big trip."

"Do you know anything else about him?" the blond king asked, urgency in his voice. Now that Peter was close to them, he could tell that this man seemed older than the others, his crown a little taller, a little more ornate. He had to be High King Peter.

"I think he took in some kids during the War," Peter replied, wracking his memory for any other information. "But I don't know what happened to them."

A thought dawned on Peter, and he remembered snippets of conversations that he had barely paid attention to. Four kids, he was pretty sure. Four kids, sent to the countryside during the Blitz so they could be safe. But then they disappeared, and no one ever found them again. And when he had first met Queen Lucy, she said they had gone through the wardrobe once. Peter had thought she meant they had left Narnia, but that wasn't right. He just knew that wasn't right.

"What happened?" King Edmund asked. "The war, how did it end?"

"We won," Peter answered solemnly. "But it was pretty bad. A lot of people died. More than ever before. And there was a huge bomb, an atom bomb. Like a million times more than a regular one. It was bad."

"How long has it been since it ended?" Queen Susan asked carefully. She sounded almost like she didn't want to know the answer.

"About thirty years."

"They're probably all dead then," King Edmund huffed, turning away from the others.

"Don't say that!" Queen Lucy cried, admonishing her brother. She might be younger than him, but she certainly seemed to be in charge of him.

"It's true! The Professor was already ancient and everyone else probably got bombed into dust," he hissed back. "There'd be no point going back now."

"Edmund's right, we can't go back," King Peter said to the others, sadness casting a shadow on all of their faces. "We can't ever go back."

"It's time to forget that world for good," Queen Susan agreed.

"I can't stay here," Peter said, thinking of his family waiting for him in that big country house and his friends missing him at school. "I'm sorry, but I have to go home."


	9. 5D My Soul's Sanctuary

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge, Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Subject:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _[Event] First Kiss_ **| Word Count:** _1005_

_Insane Prompt Challenge | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 474 - [Setting] Hogsmeade_

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o . o . o

* * *

**My Soul's Sanctuary**

Hannah sat next to Susan, glancing toward the door every few seconds. Each time it opened, her heart beat faster before falling in disappointment. She didn't know if he would show up - she hoped he would, but she really had no idea. The meeting seemed about to start, but Hannah wasn't ready yet. _Just give him a few more minutes. _

"Hi everyone -"

The door swung open and Michael walked in, apologizing for being late. Behind him, brushing dark curls back from his forehead, was Anthony, a blue tartan scarf tucked into his black coat. Hannah felt like her heart was stuttering. Good lord, he was attractive. She could feel the stupid smile creeping across her face, and she wished it would go away before someone else noticed her foolishness, but she was powerless.

Anthony looked in her direction as he stepped further into the dingy pub. Well, he could have been looking in anyone's direction she supposed, but she wanted to believe it was hers. And Hannah swore she could see a faint smile play across his lips. He and Michael took their seats only two tables over from where Hannah and Susan sat together, and then the meeting got well and truly underway. Hannah found she had a difficult time paying attention. Her mind seemed insistent on wandering away to concoct various scenarios involving her and Anthony together.

Anthony glanced over in her direction and smiled slightly - not a warm smile, but an almost laughing smile - and Hannah quickly looked away, a blush creeping across her skin. Her imagination started to run wild. _Anthony holding her hands as they walked through Hogsmeade. Anthony telling her she's beautiful as they're nestled in some secluded nook of the castle. Anthony tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear._ Hannah shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn't let herself run away with thoughts like that - it just wouldn't do to get her hopes up. She had always been bad about that - thinking that boys were interested in her when really they didn't spare her a second glance. She didn't know what to look for, how to know when someone was flirting. It was hopeless.

"Are you coming?"

Hannah blinked rapidly, taking in the dingy little pub again. The meeting must have ended, because chairs were scraping as people stood, clamoring to the front to sign some little scrap of paper. She stood quickly and smoothed out her skirt, following Susan to the front. The piece of parchment had _Dumbledore's Army _written across the top in neat, loopy script, with a list of signatures below. Hannah's heart leapt when she saw Anthony's scrawl, and she looked around quickly, hoping she hadn't completely missed him, but her heart sank. She couldn't see him anywhere. Turning her attention back to the parchment, she grabbed the quill from Lee and quickly scribbled her name. At least this would give her another excuse to see him.

She cared about the war too, and learning how to defend herself properly. Hannah believed everything Harry had ever said about that night in June, about Cedric and... it all just made sense. And she was Muggle-born, so she was acutely aware of the shifting attitudes and the disappearances that had already started. She knew that things would get worse, and Hannah thought that the way they were being taught was awful. So she wasn't _only _interested in the club because of Anthony, but it was definitely an added bonus.

"Hey, Hannah!" Anthony called as she followed Susan out the door of the Hogs Head, scrambling forward from where he had been leaning against the alley wall.

She whirled around to face him, entirely caught by surprise.

"Do you want to grab lunch with me?" he asked, running his fingers through his curls. "I was hoping that I could ask you some questions about Charms. If you don't mind, I know it's a weekend and Hogsmeade visit and all so you might not want to -"

"Sure!" Hannah burst out, finally managing to speak. "I don't mind at all, that'd be lovely."

_Lovely_, _honestly, who says going over homework is lovely? _she cursed herself. Why couldn't she speak like a normal person around him? What was wrong with her?

"Great," he said, sighing a little in what she hoped was relief.

Hannah waved a quick goodbye to Susan as she followed Anthony, and Susan replied with a teasingly arched eyebrow. She and Anthony walked quietly towards the Three Broomsticks, and she began to worry that the entire thing would be painfully silent. She felt the need to say something, but her mind was frustratingly blank of anything that wouldn't make her want to slam her forehead into the wall in embarrassment. But once they were seated in the pub, it got better. Anthony did most of the talking, asking question after question about Charms, Hannah's life, her family, and a whole host of other topics as they sipped on Butterbeers and split a sticky toffee pudding. When they were finished, Anthony insisted on paying, and Hannah could sense his hand hovering near her lower back as he escorted her out.

"I have to admit something," he said after a few moments of quiet.

"Alright?" Hannah prompted, her heart pounding.

"I sort of...I was hoping…" he stammered, unsure of what to say. "Well the thing is, I really like you, quite a lot actually."

"You do?" Anthony nodded, and Hannah felt a smile stretch across her face. "I really like you too."

Hannah reached out and laced her fingers through Anthony's, locking eyes. There was a heartbeat when he just stared at her in awe, and then he leaned forward, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips to hers, and it was the best thrill Hannah could have imagined. Her first kiss and it was Anthony, and suddenly the world didn't seem so dark. She had him, and that was enough to make the war less scary. It was more than enough.


	10. 5S Does She Love Me?

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge, Year 5 | House:** _Eagles_ **| Class:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Standard_ **| Prompt:** _[Emotion] Heartbroken_ **| Word Count:** _1134_

_Insane Prompt Challenge | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 836 - [Relationship type] Exes_

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o . o . o

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**Does She Love Me? (Is it Too Late?)**

_It creeps in slowly  
__Stings like poison through my veins  
__So many questions  
__So many glances unexplained  
_\- Let Go by Dean Lewis

Dean saw her walking down the hall and his heart squeezed painfully. He hated this. Just one stupid comment that led to a stupid fight that made her walk away from him. It's not like he really expected them to be together forever, but she made him happy… most of the time. And if they made each other happy then there was a chance it could be forever. There was a chance they could be right together.

There had been days when it got to him, when he felt like he was her second choice. He would see the way she looked at Harry after Quidditch practice, or see her glance over at him during dinner, and it would just drive him mad. Dean had no idea how everyone else missed Harry's smitten expressions whenever he looked at Ginny, but somehow it seemed like he was the only one that knew. On those bad days, the fear that Harry was going to snatch her away from him took hold of him, and it made him want to cling to her even tighter. Ginny hated that.

He wanted so badly to go back to the way things had been in the beginning. Not even the beginning - the middle. The start had been fun and light and all smiles, but the middle had been truly wonderful. Because they did love each other, he knew it. It wasn't all in his head, and it wasn't only him. They had something together, and for a while it had been _great_, and he wanted that back. They had to find their way back from this.

Dean watched as Ginny laughed with Luna, throwing her head back with glee. Her titian hair tickled the middle of her back as her shoulders shook, and Dean felt longing gnaw at his heart. He thought back to their fight… _stupid. _He understood why she had been mad when he and Seamus laughed at Harry's fractured skull. She had been friends with Harry for ages - the bloke was practically her brother, he and Ron were so close - so Dean understood that she had been worried about him. He had been worried too, Harry was his friend too. But it was _funny. _How could he watch McLaggen swing that stupid bat straight into Harry's head and _not_ laugh? He knew he'd be alright, Madam Pomfrey could mend anything. But Ginny had blown it totally out of proportion and they'd fought and it was just another reason why she could walk away from him. But Dean thought they'd gotten past it, moved on. And then the same _stupid _fight again. He hadn't even tried to help her through the portrait hole, but it didn't matter. It had been the final straw for her.

He just didn't understand. He felt so strongly about her, he _loved _her, how could she stand to give up on them so easily? It didn't make sense, it wasn't right. Something shifted and Dean made a decision. He wasn't going to let it end this easily, he was going to fight back. Because surely this had just had an argument, and he could win Ginny over again. He had to try, he couldn't just give up. With a deep breath, Dean began to trot down the hall, chasing after Ginny. He was always chasing after her. She rounded the corner and he quickened his pace, breaking into a jog.

"Ginny!" he called out, reaching out toward her with his hand.

She turned at the sound of her name, her eyes quickly scanning the hall and landing on Dean. Her brows furrowed and her whole demeanor shifted, her body tensing. Dean felt his heart sink. If that was the way she looked at him… it felt like he was losing her all over again.

"Hey," he breathed when he finally caught up to her, "I was hoping maybe we could talk… about things - us - about what happened the other night."

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Dean ploughed on, determined to get his thoughts out.

"I heard what you said," he continued, "but I don't think we should let that be the end. It's such a small thing, and I can work on it, and we can be better. Ginny, we used to be happier, I know we can get there again. But I don't want to be without you right now. I'm mad about you, I know that you know that, and I can't just let this thing between us die because of a silly little mistake."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, and Dean had a heartbeat where he thought he had won her over. It was so unlike her to stay silent, and he thought surely it must mean that she was seeing the sense in what he said and was considering it. But then her eyes met him, and he saw something in them that he never wanted to see.

"You think it's silly and small, and that's exactly why this is over," she said definitively. "Anything that makes the person you care about upset should never be insignificant to you, Dean. It should always matter."

"I never said it didn't matter," he replied quietly.

"I know," Ginny answered, "but that is how you see it. It's why you never bothered trying to change until now, until I broke up with you for it." She stared him down in that fiery way she had, and Dean felt the truth of her words sinking into his very bones. "But the truth is, that's not why I ended it, Dean. I don't care about you, not in that way. I wish you all the best, and I'm happy to be your friend and your teammate, but I don't want to be with you anymore. Not because of anything you did wrong, or anything like that, but just because I don't want to. You're not the one for me, it's that simple."

"I could be," Dean protested, hating how weak he sounded even as the words spilled from his mouth.

"No, you can't," she snapped, frustration evident in her voice and her expression. "I just don't want you, Dean, I'm sorry, but I don't."

He floundered, no more words to speak, and in that time she turned and walked away. He felt like his heart was crunching in on itself and crumbling into dust. It was physically painful, like a heart attack, but it wouldn't ever show up on a scan. He was dying, but it would take his whole life to kill him, because she didn't love him anymore. Because she would end up with Harry probably, and he was pretty sure he would still be standing in that hallway forever, watching her walk away because he was too late.


	11. 6D A Tempestuous Start

**A Tempestuous Start**

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge | House:** _Eagles_ **| Subject:** _DADA_ **| Category:** _Drabble_ **| Prompt:** _[Weather] Maelstrom_ **| Word Count:** _941_

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry**, _Assignment 8_ **| House:** _Gryffindor_ **| Subject:** _Extinct Languages_ **| Task:** _3_ **| Prompt:** _Write about a foundation of something._

_Insane Prompt Tracker | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 456 - [Weather] Windy_

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The sea swirled darkly, slamming into the cliffs over and over again, rain pelting the jagged rocks. Nerida stood at the edge, her toes curling tightly over the stones as her robes whipped in the wind. She felt as though the maelstrom in front of her was a perfect manifestation of the chaos that was raging inside her mind and her heart. She had rushed into things and made a mess of everything, and now she would have to make an even bigger mess just to undo it all. How was she going to manage it? She kicked a pebble over the edge of the cliff and watched it plunge into the water, imagining it following the violently swirling path of the whirlpool below. It felt like the trajectory of her life at the moment, a downward spiral, beating her to a pulp against sharp edges at every turn.

It had started just over a year earlier, on her twenty third birthday. Her family had been pressuring her to get married, to settle down and have a family. They weren't entirely out of line, either. All the other girls her age had been married for years - most had at least one child already. But Nerida had still been living with her parents and her younger brother, scribbling in her notebook about new spells, and they were getting tired of it. Her mother in particular was determined not to see her become a spinster.

Nerida didn't have many friends. She was quiet and contemplative and more interested in inventing than she was in marriage, and after a certain age, that had stopped being acceptable. So she had ended up alone in their city, with just her work. And she hadn't minded at all, until that birthday, when her parents had all but insisted she get married. They had invited Anastas to dinner, a respectable man who had lost his first wife - a viable option for marriage in their minds. He had been nice enough, intelligent and focused on his career, which suited Nerida just fine. She could be left alone for as much time as he liked, left to do her own thing. So she had agreed to marry him, and two months later, the thing was done, and she was his wife.

But it turned out that Anastas didn't want to leave her alone at all. He had wanted to assault her body relentlessly until he created a child in her, and then he wanted her to devote her life to serving him and raising their multitudes of children. She had no interest in any of that, but he was strong, and he was adamant, and society supported his line of thinking. She had little recourse. She had to suffer through the physical manifestations of his "love" - the bruises and the pains.

Nerida had begun to daydream about ways to get away from Anastas. She tried to think about what she wanted from life, what legacy she would like to leave behind. It had to be more than children. Children were fine, children were great. But children died, eventually, they didn't last. If her only legacy was children, then it would fade within generations. She had a vision of a sanctuary for witches like her - a place where they could go to learn and invent to their hearts' content and be safe the whole time. Nerida dreamt of a place like the great universities - a mix of educating younger witches and letting adults have free reign to research new advancements. She would likely never see it come to fruition, but it was a beautiful dream nonetheless.

She had met Tihomir two months ago, when she had sought sanctuary in the city's library. He was quiet, and intelligent, and absorbed in a mountain of books. They had begun talking, soon forming a friendship. He was concerned whenever he saw Nerida wince in pain as she shifted in her seat. But most importantly, when she shared her dream with him, he didn't think it was stupid or ridiculous. He shared it. Not quite shared it, actually. He wanted no ownership of it - it was _her_ dream, wholly and completely, and he didn't want to take any part of it from her. But he did want to support her and help her make it come true.

For the longest time, it had just been talk. The vaguest of plans. But on that morning, Nerida had made a decision that it had to be more. Everything had changed, twisted her deeper into the maelstrom of her life, and she knew it was time. She had gone to Tihomir with a bag packed with her few meager belongings - a few sets of robes and a blanket she had as a baby - and they had left the city together.

That was how she ended up standing on a cliff, overlooking the sea as it swirled in a violent torrent. She wondered if she was reading too much into the weather, or if it was somehow echoing her thoughts. Either way, it was appropriate. This was the spot. Far away from her family and her abusive husband. Far away from anyone who didn't understand her. This was where she would build her school, this was where she would raise her child. All she needed was a name. The tempest around her brought to might the expression _sturm und drang_, and she knew what her school would be called. That very moment, as she stood on the cliff staring into the raging sea, was the moment that Durmstrang came to be.


	12. 6B Sanctuary

**Sanctuary**

**Hogwarts Houses Challenge | House: **_Eagles_** | Subject: **_DADA_** | Category: **_Bonus, Ch 1_** | Prompt: **_[Setting] Crypt_** | Word Count: **_2432_

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry | House: **_Gryffindor_** | Subject: **_Foreign Exchange_** | Task **_#6_** | Prompt:** _Write about a 'safe place' for witches and wizards, that isn't Hogwarts._

_**Insane Prompt Challenge | House:** Gryffindor **| Prompt:** 370 - [Action] Running away from something_

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A roar echoed from the forest, feral and triumphant, and in that moment they knew that they had lost the war. There was no other explanation for that noise. Harry was dead, and Voldemort was unstoppable now. Dean looked at the chaos around him. The Death Eaters might have retreated for a little while, but the wreckage of the castle looked more like they had already won. And it wouldn't get better now, he knew that. Any minute now, the Death Eaters would be storming the castle to tear down what little still stood. They had to do something. He couldn't just let everyone die.

In the corner of the Great Hall, Dean saw Ron huddled with the rest of his family over Fred's body, Hermione hovering a few steps behind him like she was unsure whether her place was with the Weasleys. Dean tiptoed up to her as quickly as he could, careful to maintain the delicate space she had left between herself and the mourning family in front of them.

"We need to get people out of here," Dean whispered in Hermione's ear.

She turned to look at him slowly, and he could see in her expression that she wasn't fully present. He didn't know if it was Fred or Harry or something - someone - else, but she seemed halfway gone already. It was like she knew that death was marching toward the castle, and she had already decided it was coming for her.

"Hermione, we have to go," Dean urged. "They're going to come back for all of us, we need to leave while we can."

"We can't go," she sighed wearily.

"Yes, we -"

"No," she replied firmly. "Going would be giving up. We can't give up."

"Hermione, there's nothing to give up, it's over!" Dean hissed, frustrated. He didn't understand why she couldn't see what he did. "We lost this battle, but if we leave now, maybe we can regroup, fight again another day. If we stay, we're all going to die."

"We can't give up," she repeated, and Dean knew without a question that nothing he said would change her mind. "Harry wouldn't want us to give up."

Dean turned away. He wound his way through the crowded hall, pulling aside any members of the DA that he saw, and telling them to gather whoever they could and meet him by the Room of Requirement as fast as possible. Once he was sure he had reached everyone in the Great Hall, he ducked out of the already thinning crowd and did a quick survey of the surrounding halls, making sure he had found as many people as possible.

His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythmic beat that ticked away the time until the Death Eaters returned. In truth, he was a little surprised it had taken them so long. He couldn't wait any longer, it was time to leave.

Dean rushed through the corridors, leaping up stairs and over piles of rubble. A crowd of people had assembled outside of the Room of Requirement, waiting for him just as he had asked. He wasted no time. The door opened to reveal a small room - just big enough to fit them all inside - with the familiar portrait of Ariana at the far end. He gave her a quick nod and the portrait swung open immediately to reveal the secret passage, and Dean began to usher people through as quickly as possible.

He watched Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones support each other as they walked past. Padma Patil was practically dragging her sister, who was wailing loudly. Anthony Goldstein followed despite bleeding from a large gash on his forehead. There were many more that he recognized from school - some older, some younger. There were others too, members of the Order that he recognized and a few people that he had met while he had been living on the run. Dean watched them all pass by him, a little bit surprised when Charlie Weasley rushed to join the group.

"They're bonkers," Charlie swore angrily in response to Dean's inquisitive expression. "I tried to get them to come too but… Look, I love my brother, but his corpse is not worth dying for."

"Okay," Dean said, squeezing Charlie's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Once they were all through the portrait hole, Dean took one final look behind him. He had spent a lot of time in this room preparing for tonight, but he had never imagined it ending like this. _I need you to self destruct once we're all through the passage._ Dean felt his heart constrict painfully as he thought the words, deeply sad to imagine this sanctuary's demise. He turned down the passage and pulled the frame of Ariana's portrait closed behind him, as he followed the group toward Hogsmeade and the hope that it held.

The walk seemed to last an eternity, the minutes stretching forever. Dean kept expecting to hear a horde of Death Eaters stampeding towards them, but the only sound in the tunnel was the earthy march of their own footsteps. When they emerged into the stale air of Aberforth's pub, Dean began to feel a mounting sense of pressure. Adrenaline and a sense of urgency had gotten him this far, but he didn't know where to lead everyone next, or how to transport a group of fifty people to one location simultaneously.

"What now, Dean?" Hannah prompted softly, her brows furrowed with concern.

He paced, thinking, and then stopped and stared out the window toward the castle. He could only see the faintest outline of it against the night sky, but he knew exactly where it was. He could picture every single turret and the precise placement of each window - he had painted them frequently enough. Suddenly, an explosion lit Gryffindor Tower, launching chunks of debris into the air. Gasps tore through the air at the violent blast.

Dean gained sudden clarity on two fronts in that moment. Hogsmeade was about to become extremely unsafe for them. And he knew exactly where to go.

During the months that he had been on the run, he had learned a great many lessons about it. Foremost among them was that shelter was far more of a necessity than people gave it credit for, and anything with a defensible door was your friend. In the Forest of Dean, there had been an old, forgotten graveyard with a large crypt. It had housed generations of an ancient family that had long ago died out, but the ancestors had clearly made provisions for their line to survive much longer, for the mausoleum was more than spacious. Emmeline made the portkey to take them there, after searching through Dean's memories, and they all gathered around the transformed table. With an unpleasant _yank, _the group was sucked through space until the void spat them out onto the dark, woodsy ground.

It was just as he remembered it from what he could see. The moon provided little light through the trees, only enough for them to see the outline of the massive mausoleum. Silently, the group edged forward. Even in the forest, many kilometers from Hogwarts, there was a palpable feeling of vulnerability out in the open like this. Dean heaved against the studded oak door, nudging its massive weight just enough for them to eke by one at a time.

Once they were all safely inside, Dean pushed the door shut again with the help of Charlie and Neville, and slammed the bolt across the door. Why the crypt had been built with such defenses, Dean had no idea, but at that particular moment, he didn't much care.

"Lumos," he muttered, holding his wand aloft as the tip flared to life. All through the crypt, the spell was echoed as anyone whose wand was still in tact followed his lead. Light spread through the empty chamber, illuminating five offshooting tunnels. Dean remembered those tunnels - they led to smaller chambers whose walls were lined with cremation urns.

"Welcome to the crypt everyone," he murmured darkly, casting his gaze around the crowd. "Settle in, this is probably gonna be home for a while."

Exhaustion and relief filtered through them. The crypt was by no means a permanent solution, but for now they were safe and could recover from the battle relatively free of fear. They had reached a place of sanctuary, where they could stay long enough to grieve their fallen and come up with a plan to move forward.

Everyone began to filter off into their own smaller groups, some setting off to explore. A few continued to look to Dean for guidance and instructions, but his brain refused to do any more. He moved off into a corner of the chamber and slid to the floor, his eyes barely staying open until he hit the ground.

He slept fitfully. A parade of dreams featuring exploding walls and bodies being torn apart tormented his psyche, not for a moment letting his mind find peace from the atrocities to which he had borne witness. They had lost. The reality of it was setting in, and it seemed as though their next steps would be for him to decide. Dean wished he could pass the responsibility to someone else. He never fully realized how much weight had been resting on Harry's shoulders.

When Dean woke, he pushed himself to his feet again, his bones creaking with weariness. Looking around, he could see that most of the others had tried to sleep as well, crumbled in little heaps scattered across the chamber. He picked his way through the room until he reached the tunnel that led to one of the smaller chambers. There, he found a small group of bustling fighters, all being patched up. Hannah was doing most of the work, and Dean idly remembered that she had been doing extra lessons with Madam Pomfrey so she could start at St Mungo's after seventh year.

"Are you doing okay here?" he asked her, staying in the doorway. He didn't need to get any closer to the large gash in Luna's leg that Hannah was healing than he already was.

"I'm fine, a little short of supplies, but I'm going what I can for right now," Hannah answered, her gaze never leaving the wound. It was mesmerizing, watching her hands weave back and forth over Luna's leg, the skin and muscle knitting back together under the direction of her wiggling fingers.

"I like the idea of using this chamber as an infirmary," Dean said, nodding a little to himself as he looked around. "I guess you're our Pomfrey."

"Good thing I'm fully trained," she snorted sarcastically in reply, but for giving him a quick apologetic glance. It wasn't Dean's fault that they were in this situation.

"What can I get you to help?" he asked. He knew there was likely very little that he could really achieve, but even something small was better than nothing.

"I need bandages and splints, disinfectant potions," Hannah recited. "But mostly I need as many herbs as you can get your hands on."

"Okay, roger that," Dean said, ducking out of the room and back down the tunnel.

He toured the crypt, cataloguing all the spaces they had and making a note of how they might be able to put them to best use. Now the he had gotten at least a little bit of rest, he was able to think of all the things they needed and try to figure it out. The situation brought to mind memories of his siblings as babies, when all they had done was eat, slept and pooped. That was the basis of what they needed. Food, rest, and a place to relief themselves. There were other needs too, but they were less urgent.

The second largest chamber was located as far from the crypt's entrance as possible, and it had no other connecting tunnels. It was the perfect location for them to sleep, despite housing several large coffins. The room wouldn't fit all of them at once, but that was alright, they needed to take it in shifts anyway so they could be as safe as possible. Dean pulled Susan aside and set her in charge of conjuring cots and blankets, as well as anything else they needed to make the chamber reasonably comfortable. She asked a few others to help her, and Dean left them to their task.

Near the entrance was the smallest chamber, the size of a small kitchen, and Dean decided that it could be the toilets. Charlie assured him that he could apply some self-cleaning charms and an air filtering spell to the room in order to keep things as pleasant as possible. At the dragon keep in Romania they had used outhouses, and Charlie had often been involved in the maintenance of the spells during his internship there. Hazing, he supposed.

Dean decided that two of the remaining rooms would be used for farming, or what passed as farming in the crypts. He let Neville take charge of the mission, fully confident in his Herbology abilities. Neville seemed to light up at the prospect, and Dean could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he planned his approach. It made him happy to see his friend so confident, and as excited as he could be in that moment - Neville had lacked that in his life for so long.

The remaining room had no designated use - overflow, perhaps, or recreation. It didn't really matter. There was a door at the far end of it that made Dean uncomfortable. Even when he had stayed in the crypt before, he had never been able to get the door open, and he had no idea what lay beyond it. It could be more tunnels, further defenses, or it could be another way in that they weren't prepared for him. The idea made him nervous, but it also reminded him of their one other significant need.

Security.

He led a team of witches and wizards in laying spells across the entrance and every inch of the crypt, making it as impenetrable as possible. The last thing he wanted was for the Death Eaters to find them and corner them, blasting them all to bits. Under his supervision, the crypt became unplottable, invisible, forgettable, and many other things.

They began to form a solid base in the crypt, they began to heal, to move on. To hope for some kind of a future. Or so they thought.


	13. 6S Burn for You

**Burn for You**

_Hogwarts Houses Challenge | House: Eagles | Subject: DADA | Category: Standard | Prompt: _[Romantic Pairing] Lily Potter (or Evans)/ James Potter _| Word Count: 2435_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry | House: Gryffindor | Subject: Muggle Studies | _Task #2 | Prompt: Write about someone who is/feels trapped

_Insane Prompt Challenge | House: Gryffindor | Prompt: 402 - [AU] Hospital_

_Modern Muggle!AU. Soulmate!AU._

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_November 2, 2019. 10:28am._ That's what was written on her arm in black in, like a tattoo. The worst tattoo imaginable. Who wanted a countdown to the day they would die? An ugly reminder that they would perish, alone and unloved, sooner rather than later. All Souls Day. There was an irony in that, but Lily had been staring at that tattoo for far too long to appreciate it.

Everyone knew how this worked. From the moment you were born, you were fated for some tragic demise, but your soulmate was the one person who could stop it from happening. If you met them in time, the countdown on your arm that ticked away the minutes simply faded into your skin, into your bloodstream, and you would live the rest of your life the way people ought to - never knowing when you might go, but hoping it was a long way away. If you didn't, you were toast. Lily hated it. She despised the idea that her life centered around some arbitrary life partner that the fates had decided on. She loathed the idea that her life had to involve someone else at all. Why couldn't she be a successful, unmarried nurse who lived to the age of 103? Why did she have to die tomorrow unless sparks happened to fly tonight?

She could feel herself panicking as the day wore on. Halloween, and she was stuck working the graveyard shift. So basically, she'd be working until she dropped dead. Because there was fuck all chance that she was gonna meet someone in the ER who wasn't an absolute lunatic or about to drop dead themselves. Man, fate must really hate her.

"Hey, Evans, my shift is over, so you're taking over my patients." Marlene pulled her hair out from underneath her leather jacket and tossed the dark curls over her shoulders. "Frank and Alice, twenty nine and twenty seven respectively, engaged couple, admitted with severe memory loss, bruises and lacerations across the head and torso, and an array of broken bones. Looks like they were in a fight, but the injuries are all about a week old, and they don't remember what happened. A friend or neighbor or something dropped them off. We're keeping a close eye on their CTs to look for subdural hematoma or any indication of what's causing the memory loss and whether it'll be permanent. Oh, and she's pregnant."

Lily sighed heavily. She hated it when her patients were pregnant. Two for the price of one deaths, more often than not.

"Okay, I'll take care of them and let you know if anything changes," Lily said, nodding to her friend.

"You will not," Marlene replied, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm not on call tonight, and the Horse and Crown is having a wicked Halloween party, pun intended. So I'll be there, hopefully making out with some sexy vampire or something. I do _not _want to be disturbed. Got it?"

"Got it," Lily smirked, halfheartedly laughing. She wanted to be happy and supportive and all that, but she was also infinitely jealous.

Marlene waved goodbye and sashayed out the ER door, off to her exciting party.

"Arrow to the face, coming through!"

"What?!" Lily whirled around, looking for the incoming trauma patient. It wasn't unusual for Halloween to feature some of the craziest injuries, but this was definitely a new one.

Two paramedics were wheeling a gurney into the ER, and on it lay a young man about her age. An arrow had pierced through his forehead and was exiting his head above his right ear, with blood drying across his face. Behind the group jogged two other guys - one dressed as Robin Hood and the other as a werewolf - both of whom seemed slightly intoxicated. Lily rolled her eyes. Of course Robin Hood had tried to shoot real arrows, how predictable. She pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and began to assess the patient.

"Okay, he seems stable," she said aloud to anyone who was listening. Inevitably, there was always a resident or two nearby. "I'd like to get a CT to check the extent of the brain injuries, and then page neuro so we can come up with a plan for surgery."

"He's gonna need surgery?" the Robin Hood guy exclaimed.

"Do you see the arrow sticking out of his head?" Lily snapped. She really hated morons like this.

"Shit, shit, shit," he swore. "I didn't mean to hurt him!"

"Frankly, you'll be lucky if you didn't kill him."

With a final withering glance, Lily followed her patient's gurney as he was wheeled toward the elevator for his scans. After a minute, she sent one of the residents - Mary, she thought - back to get as complete a patient history as she could from the guy's friends.

It turned out that this guy was the absolute luckiest guy on the planet (unlike Lily, who now had just a day and a half until she keeled over). Somehow the arrow had missed literally everything important, and they were able to remove it without any deficits. Once he woke up from the anaesthesia, he would be completely fine. It was a miracle. The two idiots had left during his surgery, saying that he didn't really need them there for that part anyway, and they'd be back once he was awake. The werewolf one had muttered something about telling his parents about it.

"Mmmh," the patient groaned, his eyelids fluttering as he began to wake.

"Mr Potter!" Lily hurried to interrupt, gently placing her hands over his chest to stop him from moving too much. "You've been really lucky so far, but you need to take it easy."

"Not something I'm good at," he mumbled, wincing slightly as he shifted in the bed.

"Well you're going to have to get good at it," she insisted, checking the monitors to make sure he was still alright. "It'll be a while before you're fully healed. Your friend really put you in a lot of danger, it was pretty stupid."

"Yeah, but it got me here to you, so it's not all bad," he grinned cheesily, and Lily rolled her eyes, even though she felt her heart stutter a little bit. She tried to push those feelings away, but it was hard when he kept staring at her with those beautiful hazel eyes framed by long, dark lashes.

"How did this even happen?" Lily asked, trying to clear her mind.

"He wanted to shoot an apple off my head," he said, his eyes drifting shut.

"And you let him?" she replied incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

"He said he could," Potter shrugged, closing his eyes. "He's my brother, I trust him with my life."

"Must be a very different kind of brother than my sister," Lily muttered almost under her breath. "I would only trust Petunia to end my life."

He laughed, wincing again slightly.

"He's not really my brother, I just call him that because…" he paused, almost as if he was considering how much of his life's story to share. "He's more like a chosen brother, I guess."

Lily smiled at his words - it was clear from his face how special his relationship with his friend must be, and it only made the affection for him that was growing in her heart swell that much more rapidly.

"I'm going to leave you to get some rest now," she said, standing and excusing herself. He needed sleep in order for his brain to heal properly, and she needed some space to regain her composure.

Once she was around the corner, Lily stopped and leaned back against the wall, taking deep breaths. How could she feel so strongly connected to him after such a short time? Was this what fate had in mind for her? With shaking hands, Lily pushed the sleeve of her coat up over her forearm and looked down.

_November 2, 2019. 10:28am._

It was still there. That stupid, ugly tattoo that marked her. Lily felt tears welling up and her deep breaths began to stutter as she tried and failed to calm herself down. He wasn't her soulmate. She hadn't found that person, and she was running out of time. And she _so _wanted Potter to be that person.

Lily spent the rest of her shift trying _not _to check up on Potter as much as possible, sending residents as often as she could. She just couldn't stand to be next to him, staring into his eyes for a second longer than she had to. It was torture of the most acute kind. But when her shift was over, after she had changed back into her street clothes and let her hair down from her ponytail, "she happened to pass by Potter's room. And he happened to be awake. And apparently watching for her.

"Dr. Evans!" he called out, and she instinctively pulled up short at the sound of her name, cursing herself a split second later. There was no pretending she didn't hear him now.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she asked politely, hovering in the doorway. "Is everything alright? Do you need something?"

"No, yes, everything is fine," he stammered, blinking those long lashes against his cheeks. You look really nice."

"Thank you," she smiled, taking a step further into the room despite her better judgment. "So what can I do for you?"

"Hang out for a minute," he shrugged, "if you don't have a hot date to get to. Sirius is undoubtedly too hungover to get out of bed and Remus is stuck at work today, so I'm all alone for a bit."

"What about your parents?" Lily asked, ignoring the tugging at her heart that his words had initiated

"They live a long way away, and Mum isn't really up for traveling these days."

Lily stepped farther into the room, chewing on her lip as she laid her coat over the visitor's chair. It didn't feel right to sit there, so she took the doctor's stool and scooted it next to his bed.

"Alright, Mr. Potter, you've got my attention for a little while," she said, smiling kindly.

"James, please," he replied, her smile echoed on his face. "You seem sad. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Lily lied, but the disbelieving expression on James' face told her that he saw right through it. "It's stupid."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "We're allowed to be upset about stupid things. And I'm willing to bet it's not as stupid as you think either."

"It's my date, my mark," she explained. "I don't have much time left and I was hoping that… I was hoping for a Hail Mary, I guess."

"Can I see it?"

Lily leaned forward and carefully tugged her sleeve up, but she looked away. She didn't need to look at the damn thing again, she knew what it said. She had fourteen hours left. James reached out and took her hand, rubbing his fingers across the skin where her mark was.

"I always wondered if The Fates were real and if they actually knew anything about our soulmates," James mused, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb back and forth over the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked.

"Why does Fate get to decide who's my soulmate?" James ranted, his cheeks turning a little pink as he got excited. "I mean, if I want to spend the rest of my life with you, who is Fate to tell me differently?"

"I don't know," she whispered. She loved his words, how much he longed to be able to do whatever he wanted, to be free. It felt like they were the same, like he understood her. "Do you think… nevermind."

"No, go ahead," he encouraged, his eyes wide in anticipation.

"Do you think it's possible that someone could be our soulmate but not our saviour?" Lily asked. "I mean if I die tomorrow, but my soulmate is still alive, I can't ever save them, can I? Or are soulmates not reciprocal?"

"I think it's possible," James grinned, courage and confidence emanating from him. "I know it is, because my soulmate is sitting right in front of me, looking drop dead gorgeous, and my arm still says I'm supposed to die tomorrow. At the exact same time as her, coincidentally enough."

"You… wait, what?"

"How can I save you, Evans, when I'm also supposed to die?"

"Well, I must not be your soulmate then," she countered, her mind still reeling from the information that his expiration date was the same as hers, not to mention his declaration of love.

"Nah, that can't be right, I know you are," James said, looking at her with an intensity that scared her, but which she also craved more of.

"So what does that mean?" Lily asked, scooting her chair closer to the bed and reaching out to take his hand. "What do we do?"

"We hang out together until 10:28 tomorrow morning, and then we see what happens," James answered with a shrug. "We make the most of the next few hours."

It wasn't a bad plan. They talked for a while, learning as much as they could about each other - at least all the important things - and when James needed to rest, Lily crawled up onto the narrow bed with him and curled into his side, dozing off herself. When they woke, their time was so close, and they both began to feel fear and anxiety pulsing through their veins.

"What do you think it could be that kills us both?" Lily asked, watching the minutes tick by on the clock.

"Maybe we give each other a heart attack," James answered, raising his eyebrows and smirking in a very suggestive way. Lily wanted to smack him for such an innuendo, but she laughed instead, letting a little bit of her fear dissipate with the sound. "I certainly hope so, that would be rather pleasant."

Lily leaned in and kissed him, determined to stop looking at the clock, determined not to waste the rest of her time. She wanted to stop waiting, and spend her last moments living. She wanted to spend the rest of her moments kissing James, and based on the enthusiasm with which he responded, Lily was pretty sure that he wanted the same thing.

_BOOM!_

There was blast that shook the ground and a flash of blinding hot light as the world around them tore apart and the two hearts stopped beating in unison.


End file.
